The Sweet Horizon
by DeppStruck
Summary: Modern Day. A reticent Will Turner meets an odd looking sailor who would change his life.
1. Growing Up In England

The Sweet Horizon  
  
Ch 1: Growing Up In England  
  
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William Brandon Turner was born in London in 1983. His father abandoned the family long before Will's first birthday. His mother always said, with a cheeky smile, 'Cheap scotch was his mistress, that it was,' but behind her lighthearted tone, Will could see the scars of a broken heart. It soured *his* heart to the idea of marriage. Secretly, he worried that he might inherit his father's wanderlust.  
  
Will's Mother died before his eight birthday. At her funeral, a scattering of seemingly emotionless people stood shivering under umbrellas. Will watched the pallbearers pour dirt over her coffin; his silent tears blended with the pouring rain. His Mum was the kindest and warmest human being he had ever known, and *would* know during the tender years of his youth.  
  
He moved-in immediately with his Aunt Ethel who lived in a quaint blue house in the countryside. She was in her fifties, and she never married. She was mostly quiet, but when she did speak her words were bland, dismal or critical regarding life or the day's events. Her heart was about the temperature of the lukewarm tomato soup she served Will for dinner nearly every evening. She was not cruel to Will, but neither did she offer a mother's nurturing love. It was a tolerable existence, growing up in Aunt Ethel's little blue house in the country, but it was often dreary and most certainly un-enchanting.  
  
Throughout his childhood, Will escaped into his rich imagination. The moment he completed his chores and his schoolwork, he ran outside, rain or shine. He spent all of his free time exploring the woods and open spaces near their home, or reading late into the night, way past his bedtime. He rarely had playmates. His shy disposition and his Aunt's aversion to visitors bred him a loner.  
  
Every couple of weeks, before bedtime, Will would sneak into his Aunt's library to exchange a read book for a new story. Ethel, being the only spinster in the family and due to Will's grandfather's loving spirit, had inherited the family home, along with a large library of books; books which had been read by Auntie Ethel, Will's mother, and all their brothers and sisters during their youth. Will had the opportunity to read many classics – 'Robinson Caruso', 'Treasure Island' – books of adventure, passion and courage – worlds that seemed light-years away from his little country home in England.  
  
One evening, as he tiptoed into the library to find a new adventurous novel, he bumped his leg into a chair. His Aunt looked up from her nightly glass of Port and nodded gently with a slight smile. She always warmed up a little while she was drinking her Port. Will wondered what she thought about, as she stared – almost sadly – out the window into the darkness. Apparently, she had not been very concerned with Will's 'book-pirating'. She must have known about it for years.  
  
Due to Will's reclusive nature, he hardly caught the attention of his teachers throughout his school years. The years passed much like England's climate – cold, quiet, and a bit drizzly.  
  
However, one Friday afternoon, when he was sixteen, his Machining & Metalworks teacher approached him with enthusiasm. Mr. Brooks was impressed with the young man's ingenuity and detailed precision. Will was creating a copper sculpture of a sailboat and a dolphin. Throughout that semester, Mr. Brooks gave Will considerable attention, trying desperately to bring the young hermit out of his shell.  
  
One afternoon, Mr Brooks whispered casually to Will, while the students were putting equipment away, "So, are you taking any lucky lady to the Spring Dance?"  
  
Will shrugged. "No. I don't know. Girls don't really notice me."  
  
"That is because you try as hard as you possibly can to become one with the walls around here," Mr. Brooks responded. Will stifled a grin and then looked away. "Now, there's the spirit," Mr. Brooks continued. "You are a talented, handsome young lad; reach out a little!"  
  
Will sighed, but he struggled to smile, "I'll try, Sir."  
  
Gradually, Mr. Brooks learned of Will's childhood tragedies, his living arrangement, and his passion for books and imaginary adventures. By the end of the semester, Will was smiling quite frequently. He would speak enthusiastically about his dreams, brimming with hope and joy, as he addressed his new adult friend.  
  
"I am *so* tired of England, Mr. Brooks. I want to travel! . . . to Denmark or Holland. . . or France! I could be an artesian, selling my sculptures at art fairs from one end of Western Europe to the other!" Will exclaimed, filled with idealism.  
  
"Hmm," said Mr. Brooks, pondering, "You know, Will, with your talents and adventurous spirit, I don't believe a socialist country will suit you. Think America, boy. Think America. . .  
  
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a/n -- What do you think? 


	2. Odd Looking Gent

The Sweet Horizon  
  
Ch 2: The Odd-Looking Gent  
  
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When Will turned twenty-one, he was able to tap into a modest trust fund his mother had secured in his name. It provided the means for Will to move to Seattle and become a freshman at the University of Washington.  
  
Will stepped off the plane and peered out the windows of SeaTac Airport. The skies were gray. He said to himself, smiling, "I guess I couldn't stay too far away from clouds and drizzle. They must be in my blood."  
  
Will signed up for a standard slate of classes. He secured a place to live, rooming with two gay men in a three-room duplex in Ballard. His roommates threw many fun parties. However, Will worked long hours at a liquor store, so he was rarely able to attend one. When he was able to be home during one of Todd and Christopher's colorful events, the straight girls fancied him because of his 'adorable accent'. However, he was so shy, no girl was ever able to get past polite party conversation with him.  
  
The liquor store, just off of University Boulevard on 145th Street, was called 'The 18th Hole'. The students branded it, 'The Hole'. It was not especially clean, but it was well stocked with beer, spirits, and cheap wine.  
  
Will discovered that one learns a lot while working at a liquor store one might rather not know about the world. When he opened the store at 11am on Saturdays, older men in ratty clothing would be waiting in the alley. When he worked evenings, Monday through Friday, he would hear frat boys bragging about getting enough shots of liquor into a girl in order to 'get down her pants'. Will, already reticent, dissociated himself with the clientele of The Hole.  
  
Although Will came charging full of wanderlust to the shores of America, he was uncertain of his plans. What should be his major? He loved art and spent as many hours as possible dreaming up new creations, although he rarely had the time to finish any of them. One afternoon, after his chemistry class, Will sat on the edge of a large fountain located between the chemistry and physics buildings, and he pondered his future. Thinking about all the characters passing through The Hole he spontaneously spoke aloud, "Perhaps I should consider majoring in psychology. I endure a daily onslaught of perfect case studies."  
  
A young lady walking past him, smiled; she almost laughed a little, to hear him talking to himself. Will blushed and tried to smile. She giggled as she continued on up the stairs that led to the Quad, a courtyard of four large buildings at the heart of the campus.  
  
On one unusually sunny day in September, Will shuffled down a hill by the marina to watch the boats passing in the canal between Lake Union and Lake Washington. It was peaceful watching the boats float by at the end of their day's frolic. The names of the boats were as entertaining as watching the sun sink slowly, glimmering over the water.  
  
There was a huge yacht named 'Party Time II', a smaller yacht with blue trim named 'The Duchess of Earl', a fifteen-foot speed boat named 'Flipper', and a graceful, fifty-foot sailboat named 'The Sweet Horizon'. Will sat, watching the boats, until near sunset. He looked down at his watch.  
  
"Shit! I need to get to The Hole."  
  
He worked until closing, but he was also required to open the next morning. He was tired and edgy. He wore his purple and gold 'Huskies' sweatshirt in honor of the game he would not be able to attend – The UW Huskies vs. the University of Florida Gators. Just before halftime, the Gators quarterback fumbled, and a freshman Husky running back ran sixty yards, completing a touchdown. Will just missed the moment because he was finishing a transaction with an elderly woman buying an unimpressive bottle of white wine. She slowly – and tediously – counted out $4.37 in quarters, dimes and pennies.  
  
Will 'cheered', mocking in monotone, "Go team." He mumbled under his breath, "Why do I have to work *every* Saturday?"  
  
He glanced up to watch the replays, and he heard the jingle of the door as the elderly lady exited The 18th Hole. When he looked up a moment later, he was shocked to see a very strangely dressed man, who must have slipped in at the same time the old woman left.  
  
The stranger was about 5'10'' with dark eyes and a significant tan. A tan in Seattle was rarely natural and always conspicuous. If that wasn't enough, the man's hair sported dreadlocks, beads, strands of ribbon, and it was tied back with a red bandana.  
  
"Oh, Jesus," Will said to himself, "This guy's either a drag queen or another African-American wanna-be." Then, he was amused. "I should *definitely* major in psychology," he thought.  
  
Will pretended to be watching the game while stealing glances at the stranger. He wanted to make sure the man didn't try to shoplift or that he wasn't attempting a heist. Mr. Brown would have Will's throat if he 'allowed' the store to be robbed.  
  
The stranger swirled around suddenly and barked, "No Tortuga?"  
  
Will furrowed his brow trying to figure out what the guy was talking about. The stranger, having been born in the Cayman Islands, was accustomed to this rich blend of Jamaican and Bajan rums.  
  
Then, Will recognized the reference and responded, "Oh, this is a college student's liquor store primarily, dude. If you want imports you'll have to go across the lake," he gestured sarcastically to the east.  
  
The stranger glared at Will and eventually settled on a pint of Bacardi Gold. As the odd looking gent sort of staggered up to the counter, Will smiled thinking about what his roommates Todd and Christopher might say. Todd would say, 'He's so unusual, he's charming', but Christopher might taunt, 'Oh, his brown eyes are scrumptious, but he could use a serious fashion make-over'. Will snickered to himself. The stranger appeared to be annoyed.  
  
Will cleared his throat nervously, "Will this be cash or charge?"  
  
The stranger looked amused, and he pulled out a roll of bills. Will became uneasy. The guy might be a pimp or a drug pusher. The stranger noticed Will's less-than-flattering shocked expression and responded, as if reading Will's mind. "I clean ships down at the marina, and I give sailing lessons to dot com millionaires and their brats, if they be old enough to have children of age." He shuffled slowly through his bills, and then he looked up, his eyes flaring with intensity. "I insist they pay me in cash, savvy?"  
  
Will was caught off guard. He wasn't sure if he should laugh or run. "Savvy?" he thought. "Is this guy for real? He's either very uneducated or a total nutcase or both."  
  
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Little did Will Turner know how much this odd stranger would change his life.  
  
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reviews please. (smile) . . . savvy? 


	3. The Ouija Board Says

A/N  
  
Thank you, new reviewer from Australia, 'f h c'. And I'm happy to call you Cassie. (smiles).  
  
Re: Very valid and astute literary advice from TheSiriusSparrow and Insane Elven Pirate (IEP e-mailed me). Man, you are *so* right about the dialogue- versus-script style blunder. I thought remotely about it while I was writing, but told myself, 'nah, no one will notice', and then – bam - first round out, two of my most esteemed FanFic Colleagues *nail* me on my own, unforgivable laziness.  
  
The blunder is compounded by the fact that I have (in an unsolicited, self appointed way) been riding poor sparrowsgirl-13's arse about dotting every 'i' and crossing every 't' like I'm her English teacher, and I still invoke the right to be lazy.  
  
So, Karma has spoken. And the story will be re-wroten  
  
(couldn't resist that). All Chapters will be revised at the submission of this chapter.  
  
Oh, but I am gleeful to note that I was actually able to fill-in a major plothole before anyone else had the courage to nail me on it. I originally wrote the Will character at the age of 18, making him un-hirable by a liquor store. Oops. For those who caught it and kept their mouths shut – you are excused from your next literary blunder. Karma has spoken.  
  
Achem  
  
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Chapter Three  
  
The Ouija Board Says . . .  
  
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The odd looking stranger left, carrying a brown paper wrapped bottle of Bacardi Gold. As he exited, Will heard the familiar jingle of the bells on the door. But it was the stranger's cocky smile, which he flashed as he exited, that shook Will's customary stoic temperament.  
  
For the rest of the afternoon, Will was tense and preoccupied. There was something about the stranger that really got under his skin. Will was annoyed, frustrated, and intrigued all in the same breath. It was a long, slow workday at The Hole.  
  
At 4:00pm, Will's replacement, Linda, arrived an hour early for her shift, allowing Will the opportunity to leave. Linda was a forgiving, kind- hearted post-grad, a plump brunette with round cheeks and ample hips. She was the kind of woman who would potentially be gentle with a man who had just hit her car while he was running a red light. She had a capacity for patience of which no one had yet fully tested the limits, and a smile warmer than a puppy's brown eyes.  
  
Will was gracious when she offered him the opportunity to leave early. He rode the bus home, fidgeting and stewing all the way. The bus stopped three blocks from home. Will shuffled along the old sidewalks and under the trees until he reached the duplex.  
  
The duplex, nestled in a neighborhood of near-identical homes, was built in the mid-seventies. It was not the most attractive piece of property, but it was a good solid building that withstood weather and time. In general, the neighborhood was well maintained. The exterior of Will, Todd & Christopher's rental was brown and in desperate need of a fresh coat, but the interior had new carpet and freshly painted walls. With the exception of the ghastly paneling in the dining room, it was a rather attractive unit.  
  
When Will entered, Christopher was folding laundry on the living room couch. Christopher was a boisterous, talkative charmer. He had reddish, sandy-colored hair that covered his head in untamed curls. Todd was very tall, extremely intelligent, and not at all as hyper as Christopher. Todd chose his words carefully and thoughtfully. They were a delightful pair, and very pleasant, cooperative and enjoyable roommates.  
  
Will threw his coat and his book bag on the floor and started up the stairs.  
  
"I'm not your mother, William," Christopher taunted pointing to the coat on the floor. Will shot Christopher a cross look. "Oh my gawd!" Christopher exclaimed. "Who is she? Come, come, come," he gestured, making a spot for Will and patting the couch enthusiastically. "Tell me all about it."  
  
Will grimaced. "What are you talking about? I've had a shitty day."  
  
Christopher folded his arms over his chest, "Hunny, something happened today that turned you from Aristotle into a human being, and I'd like to know what it was."  
  
Todd entered the room as Christopher was talking. Todd looked back and forth between Will and Christopher, until a sly grin formed upon his face. "Indeed. Something is definitely in the air."  
  
While the three men threw together some snacks and convened at the kitchen table, Will discussed the day's events. He described the eerie interaction with the flipped out stranger who apparently drank imported rum. Opening his heart a little, Will also brought to light his frustrations with working so many hours, his inability to keep up his studies, and his ambiguity about the future.  
  
"Hmmm," Todd pondered after some time. "I think this stranger, wild and untamed, represents a part of you that now feels stifled and boxed in." Will took this in for a moment, and then Todd continued. "When you first arrived in town this summer, you were filled with excitement and dreams –"  
  
Christopher cut him off, "Yeah, and now you are a real bummer and a bear to live with. Talk about false advertising." Christopher's eyes danced playfully.  
  
Todd gave Christopher 'a look' and continued. "As I was saying, you were filled with passion, but the drudgery of the day-to-day has dampened that passion. This stranger, free to be as cockeyed as he pleases, frustrates you because you no longer feel free."  
  
There was a long silence, and Will nodded, contemplated the possibility. All of a sudden, Will got weird and defensive, "I'm not gay, you guys know that."  
  
Todd and Christopher exchanged a 'no duh, so what' look.  
  
Christopher, "For gawd sakes, sweety, you've only told us a hundred times. You don't have to be gay for this guy to have some sort of message for your life." His eyes lit up, "Like a swami. . . Ooo, boys, it's ouija board time."  
  
Will rolled his eyes, "This guy is *no* swami, and you know I hate the ouija board."  
  
"Lighten up," Todd encouraged. And then he hollered after Christopher, "And bring the Jack Daniels."  
  
Will got up and brought three glasses to the table.  
  
When Christopher returned with the ouija board and the Jack Daniels, he looked at Todd in disbelief. Todd and Christopher looked at the three drinking glasses on the kitchen table and then up to Will.  
  
"What?" Will snarled.  
  
Christopher fanned himself as if he were about to faint. "Oh my gawd. YOU're having a drink? Now this **is** serious." Patting the ouija board, he whispered, "You're going to have your work cut out for you tonight, darling."  
  
The boys entertained themselves with the ouija board and the Jack Daniels until almost two am.  
  
The ouija board gave many useful pieces of information.  
  
"What is the stranger's name?"  
  
"Gertrude."  
  
"Where did he come from?"  
  
"Mhxplge"  
  
"What is Will supposed to do with his life?"  
  
"Gw9 Qac"  
  
The three laughed hysterically for hours. With three pairs of hands battling for control over the triangular fortune-telling planchette, the game got sillier and sillier as the evening progressed.  
  
Finally, Todd slammed his hand on the table. "Will, you'd better take the notes." He slurred a little, "It-tis not prahhhPER for you to influence yur own deh. . .stiny," he gestured dramatically in the air. Then, the three of them screeched with laughter.  
  
"Ok, Ok," Christopher continued, trying to catch his breath. "My darlin' Wee-ja, what will our adorable little Will *dooo* with this delightful stranger?" Will gave Christopher a cross look, and Christopher shrugged, "I'm just asking, hun'."  
  
Will sighed and held out the tablet and pen, doing a very weak imitation of Sherlock Holmes. "S," Will wrote, and then stuck the pen behind his ears and turned the tablet upside down. "A," he wrote. "Hey, we actually got a vowel in this one!" "I," was next. "Woah! Two vowels. Keep rollin' boys." "L". Will started to laugh, and then almost dropped the tablet. "SAIL." A silence fell over the room; a silence made all the more dramatic by the copious amount of Jack Daniels which had been consumed.  
  
"Woah," Christopher whispered, half mockingly.  
  
Todd smiled, staggered to his feet. "I think it's time we give the ouija board a rest and get some sleep ourselves."  
  
Up in his room, Will could not sleep. His thoughts were filled with childhood images of Captain Ahab, Robinson Caruso, and Jim Hawkins. Finally, he got out of bed and dug through his closet. There were several boxes he had not yet unpacked. One contained two framed oil paintings his mother had painted. The paintings had hung on Will's bedroom walls, at home and at Auntie Ethel's, since he was three.  
  
He found the box and unwrapped the paintings. One was of a lighthouse on a rocky cliff. Will touched the paint, ever so gently. The other was a beautiful rendition of a mischievous, little sailboat on the wind whipped sea. Will stared at the painting for a long time, and a tear slid down his face. He lay on the bed, holding the painting, until he fell asleep.  
  
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In spite of the exciting evening and all of the ouija board's predictions, Will did not see the stranger for the rest of the week.  
  
"I can't imagine a guy like that would last a whole week on a pint of rum. He must have found a better supplier in Belleview," he mused.  
  
Will tried to keep his mind on his studies and off of sailboats. He had a huge essay due the following Monday, and Linda agreed to trade shifts with Will on Saturday. Will preferred to get up early, get his mind into a project and run through until it was completed. He worked all day Saturday, and he was pleased with himself when the essay was finished.  
  
Will approached The Hole around quarter to five on Saturday afternoon. He heard a commotion inside. He rushed in. Linda was crying, sobbing actually. Will stood back for a moment. She was always jolly and playful; it was disturbing to see her cry so painfully. Then, Will glanced down the aisle and witnessed an amazing spectacle. The infamous stranger was standing with his boot on the stomach of what appeared to be one of those oh-too-handsome-and-cocky frat boys. However, at that particular moment, it was difficult to see the cocky side. The boy lay motionless, whimpering, and begging for his life, as he looked up the barrel of the stranger's black revolver. The stranger was speaking.  
  
". . . and if the lady ever tells tale of ye setting foot in here again, I'm going to track down your entire 'house' of scum," he said, noting the Greek symbols on the young man's tee-shirt, "and burn ye-all like a pile of kindling. Savvy?"  
  
More whimpering was heard. The frat boy had an odd and stupid expression on his face.  
  
"I said SAVVY!!??"  
  
"Sssss ah vee," he conceded, not knowing exactly what 'savvy' meant, but knowing that he had better get the hell away from The Hole and never come back.  
  
The stranger un-cocked his gun and removed his boot from the boy's stomach. The boy got up, hesitated for a moment looking around, and then made a bolt for the door. Will and the stranger exchanged an intense, thoughtful stare. Then, Will turned his attention to the sobbing Linda. He tentatively started to give her a hug, and she laid her face on his shoulder and sobbed some more.  
  
"Come on, Linda," he soothed. "Let's lock up, and I'll escort you home."  
  
"But," Linda protested, "It's Saturday night. Mr. Brown will kill you!"  
  
"To hell with Mr. Brown," Will hissed.  
  
Will glanced up again at the stranger, who was re-concealing his gun and straightening his shirt. He appeared to be only slightly rattled by the event. The stranger met Will's gaze straight on, nodding in approval. "You're a gentlemen, Mr. –"  
  
"Turner, Will Turner. . . And so be you, Mr. –"  
  
"Sparrow. *Captain* Jack Sparrow."  
  
With that, Jack swished out the door.  
  
Linda's sobs subsided, as Will turned out the lights and locked the door behind them.  
  
"Captain," Will muttered sarcastically to himself as he took in a deep sigh. "I should have never left England."  
  
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a/n – reviews? 


	4. Because I'm Alive

A/N – It has been weeks since I've updated anything. I have more readers for my parody than I have for "The Sweet Horizon". However, for now, I am not in the parody frame of mind.  
  
An important person in my life was murdered a couple of weeks ago. He was a wonderful man, a mentor, and a friend. He was very influential in the community, more so than I had known until the newspaper articles and stories emerged. I just knew him as the man who built our community theater and who believed in me. He believed in the creative potential inherent in every human being, and he loved to watch people grow and succeed. It is difficult to lose someone, even more so to murder. It is hard to explain, but it is like it is not even real. I am dragging my carcass out of bed to write, because he would have rather seen me tapping (typing perhaps) into my creativity than falling into the abyss.  
  
Dedication: To John. You have touched and changed so many lives; your boundless energy and passion for the impossible will never be forgotten; your joy in the successes of others will live on in their hearts forever. You changed my life, and I will never stop missing you.  
  
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Chapter 4  
  
Because I'm Alive  
  
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Will escorted Linda to her doorstep where her roommate, Kathy, met them. Kathy gave Will an inquisitive look, and Will could only shrug. He assumed that the boy in the store had threatened Linda in some way, most likely with lewd and sexually demeaning overtones. Kathy took Linda into the house, thanking Will. Will walked down the path and headed for the bus stop.  
  
As he walked along, he vividly recalled the stranger, Jack Sparrow, terrifying and humiliating the brute who threatened Linda. He smiled remembering the spectacle. 'Captain' Jack Sparrow. A hero, really. Will chided himself for judging the man by his odd appearance. Clearly there was more than met the eye.  
  
Will arrived home around 7:00pm. Christopher and Todd were making preparations for a big party, which would start around 10:00pm.  
  
Christopher shook his head and looked at the clock. "Hunny, the rush hour at the liquor store has yet to begin. Don't tell me you stuck Linda with a double shift because you are 'depressed'," he mocked sarcastically, shaking his head.  
  
Will relayed the story of the evening's harrowing events. Todd and Christopher listened with great interest.  
  
"Ooh, a swashbuckler. If he's available, I get first dibs," Christopher cooed. Todd shot him a dirty look. "I mean, of course, as a second option."  
  
"My my," Todd said, contemplating, "Perhaps you ought to stay clear of the guy after all. I mean, he carries concealed weapons and threatens people – "  
  
"Who deserve it," Christopher broke in. "At least half of those frat boys are pure filth and you know it."  
  
"Undeniably," Todd agreed, "but this 'Captain' may not be the safest character to hang out with."  
  
Will countered. "The boy probably threatened to rape, Linda, Todd. I've never seen her so beside herself. She's taken all kinds of less-than- flattering jibbing from the reputable clientele of 'The Hole'. Clearly, this guy was wielding more than a few crude insults."  
  
Will sighed. "Why don't you continue with your party plans. I'm going to go to my room."  
  
"Come on," Christopher beseeched, "join us; give your depression a rest for an evening."  
  
Will grinned. "I have been rather tedious lately, haven't I?"  
  
Todd and Christopher exchanged a knowing glance.  
  
"All right, all right, I'll join you. What needs to be done?" he asked, coming forward to help.  
  
Will endured the party and tried to have a good time. He even carried on conversations and danced a little before retiring to his bedroom. He glanced up at the wall above his bed. He had hung his mother's paintings. Seeing them hanging on his wall, as they had done so throughout his youth, both pained and comforted him.  
  
He went to his bookshelf and retrieved a tattered copy of Treasure Island by Robert L Stevenson. He snuggled in his bed and read:  
  
"" . . . I remember him as if it were yesterday, as he came plodding to the inn door, his sea-chest following behind him in a handbarrow; a tall, strong, heavy, nut-brown man; his tarry pigtail falling over the shoulders of his soiled blue coat; his hands ragged and scarred, with black, broken nails; and the saber cut across one cheek, a dirty, livid white. I remember him looking round the cove and whistling to himself as he did so, and then breaking out in that old sea-song that he sang so often afterwards:-  
  
'Fifteen men on the dead man's chest-  
  
Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!' ""  
  
Will read until he fell asleep.  
  
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The next morning, the phone ringing on the bedside table awaked Will abruptly. He reached across the bed, fumbling with his hands, and knocking the phone on to the floor. By the time he put the receiver to his ear, he was greeted with screaming. It was Mr. Brown.  
  
"It's Sunday, Mr. Brown", Will said, hoping blindly to cover his tracks.  
  
"I know it is Sunday, which makes yesterday SATurday. Saturday, our most profitable evening of the week -- *especially* between the hours of nine and eleven!!"  
  
"Yes, sir," was all Will could say.  
  
"Your fired, you louse, and you might as well tell Linda she's fired, too, for not staying on when you didn't show up."  
  
"But –"Will tried to explain, but Mr. Brown had already slammed the phone down. Will groaned. He lay back in his bed with the phone's receiver still clutched in his right hand.  
  
After a while, he got up, showered, ate breakfast, and returned to his room. He looked at the stacks of homework projects piled up on his desk. Then he looked thoughtfully out the window for twenty minutes. He grabbed his windbreaker and left.  
  
He decided to make his way to his favorite, secret place, that little hill by the canal. He edged down the cliff, and he noticed that someone else was already there.  
  
"Damn," he whispered. He was disappointed. He really needed some private time to reflect upon his life and his future. At the very least, he needed the comforting arms of solitude.  
  
He was about to climb back up, when the other person turned and noticed him. It was 'Captain' Jack Sparrow. Will smiled to himself. He figured that the 'Captain' also desired solitude, so he continued back up the cliff.  
  
"Wait," said Jack. "There be room enough for two."  
  
Will hesitated. "You're not going to pull a gun on me are you?" he said, half-joking, half-serious.  
  
Jack rolled his eyes, "I only threaten scallywags."  
  
Will made his way down the cliff and sat by Jack.  
  
"I got fired today," Will offered. "You know, for leaving the store last night."  
  
Jack smiled. "Yeah? Good," he chuckled.  
  
Will looked at him, puzzled and annoyed. Why would the stranger find glee in his misfortune?  
  
"How long ye been working there?" Jack asked.  
  
"Less than a year," Will replied.  
  
"Then, good for you. Got yer life back before . . ." he trailed off.  
  
There was a long, uncomfortable pause.  
  
"I like to watch the boats go by," Will said, stating the obvious.  
  
There was no reply. The two sat watching boats for nearly an hour.  
  
"Oh, she is beautiful," Will gestured to a large and lovely sailboat approaching from the Lake Washington side.  
  
Jack looked over and nodded, "The Sweet Horizon". He took a deep breath and exhaled.  
  
They remained silent as they watch The Sweet Horizon approach and enter the harbor. A young man in a preppy shirt and shorts was at the wheel. Two pretty girls in bikinis were giggling on the deck.  
  
Jack turned away with disgust and anger in his eyes.  
  
Will looked down and started stirring the dirt with a small stick. He sensed that keeping his mouth shut was appropriate at that very moment.  
  
Finally, Jack spoke, torn between seething and tearing up. "She was'posed to be mine!"  
  
Will looked at him inquisitively, but dared not speak. Jack kicked the ground and fidgeted for a long time before he spoke.  
  
"I worked. . . . for Bob Shears –"  
  
Will cut him off, "Shears' Marina?" he asked noting the rather ritzy Marina located on the East side of Lake Washington.  
  
"Yes," Jack glared, "Shears Marina."  
  
Will made a mental note to keep his mouth shut.  
  
"Anyway, I worked for Mr. Shears for near' five years. I scrubbed, restored and maintained the boats of Mr. Shears' friends and patrons. I first met Shears when he consulted me to restore The Sweet Horizon, then known as 'Rumble and Tumble'. I was a celebrated ship's miracle worker. Me physical presence did not deter Mr. Shears from seeking me talent. The Horizon, given to Shears' wayward son, Tommie, had suffered neglect and an accident. She was – for all practical purposes – totaled. But I restored her, inch by inch, cleaning off grime, repairing damage, and when I was finished, she was better than new. Shears was so impressed, he struck a deal with me."  
  
"Listen," he said. "Tommie doesn't deserve her. He's spoiled and selfish. Tell you what. You work for me for five years, no time cards and no payroll, some pocket change, and a place to stay in the marina's back office apartment. You clean and maintain my client's boats, and basically run the place, for five years, and she's yours. I'll sign the deed over to you, free and clear."  
  
We made the agreement on a handshake. And because of my fine craftsmanship, Mr. Shears let me re-name her 'The Sweet Horizon'. This didn't sit well with lil' Tommie. Anyway, I slaved nearly 60 hours a week for four and a half years. I dreamed every day of sailing into the open sea on The Sweet Horizon. Four and a half years. . ."  
  
There was a pause. "And then what?" Will begged.  
  
"And then," Jack continued, "Mr. Shears had a heart attack. Tommie inherited everythin'. There wasn't even a mention of our agreement in the will. An oversight? I don't know. But I was paid $30,000, about $2/hour it fig'ured out to be, and asked to pack up and leave."  
  
"Why didn't you fight back? Why didn't you tell anyone?"  
  
"Who's going to take the word of a guy in dreadlocks over that of a rich man's son?"  
  
Will nodded.  
  
"I'm going to steal her back one day," Jack pondered aloud wistfully. "It wouldn't be a crime," he shot Will a defensive glare. "She is mine by all rights."  
  
"Most certainly," Will agreed, trying not to agitate Jack's temper.  
  
"Mr. Shears in his grave would prob'ly even smile," he continued.  
  
There was a long pause. Finally, Will said, "What will you do then? When you have her, I mean."  
  
An impish grin curled on the corner of Jack's lips. "Why sail into the sweet horizon, of course, matey."  
  
"Don't you worry about getting caught? Where will you hide?"  
  
"Out there," he gestured to the West.  
  
"You mean, in the ocean?"  
  
"Yes, I plan to sail until me very last breath. Perhaps in every ocean, every cove, every canal. . . around every peninsula. More square feet of water exist than I could possibly cross in me lifetime."  
  
Will was bewildered. "You are just going to sail and sail, and that's it?"  
  
Jack nodded with an air of longing.  
  
"You know, it's not that safe to be alone on a fifty foot boat in the middle of the Pacific Ocean."  
  
Jack just smiled. "I think I'll go to the Caribbean first, then."  
  
Will rolled his eyes, "Yeah, maybe you'll get to joy-ride on a hurricane. Are you nuts? You'll risk your life both as a fugitive of the law and a prisoner of the ocean. How will you get to the Caribbean? The Panama Canal?"  
  
"Explorers made it here. I think some gent' named 'Puget' made it down your way," he gestured towards Lake Union and northerly. He smiled, content and dream-like.  
  
Will was still in disbelief, "You're really serious, aren't you? Why? To get in the Guinness book of World Records? Fame, fortune. . . . hot babes? Mental Illness? I can't understand why you would seek such a hopeless adventure."  
  
"Because I'm alive, mate. It is plain and simple. . . .Because I'm alive." 


End file.
